


A Thing For Collars

by phantisma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Priest Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-18
Updated: 2006-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean convinces Sam to pull out the priest costumes to investigate a haunting at a monastery hosting a retreat, but when disaster strikes, Sam ends up believing he really is a priest…and Dean has to find a way to help him remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thing For Collars

There was something wrong.

He didn’t know what it was, but he was starting to be seriously freaked out by it.

Seriously freaked out…because Sam was never that serene. Sam would be pissed. Pissed and either yelling at him or ignoring him completely.

This wasn’t good.

Okay…he had to understand what he was dealing with so he’d know what to do.

There had been a haunting, and they’d tried to figure a way in that didn’t involve the costumes…but in the end…it was a monastery. So Sam and Dean had donned the priestly garments that Sam swore they had to burn after this. He hated them…half sure that they were going to get struck by lightening every time they put them on.

They presented themselves as part of a retreat that the brothers were hosting, two priests from California, looking for a little peace and quiet, meditation and all that jazz…and aside from the silence and praying every two hours, it had gone well.

One dead priest gone angry spirit, one garden graveyard dug up, one corpse salted and burned in the middle of the night. Everything had gone smoothly. Until they’d returned to their separate rooms and then it had all gone to hell…almost literally.

There’d been a fire in the kitchen, and apparently the one dead priest wasn’t the only thing haunting the old building…and he’d been keeping the other ones in check. In the chaos he’d lost track of Sam, gotten slammed into the stone wall and pitched down a staircase and ended up in an ambulance before he knew what was going on.

That had been three days before. Now, he stood in the doorway to the garden, the priest’s collar fitting a little tighter than it had before, watching Sam move among the brothers who were working to repair the damage.

There was something wrong.

Sam’s face was…beaming. His eyes sparkled and his entire body seemed at ease, which was something Dean didn’t think he’d seen since the boy started sprouting.

He’d smiled when he’d spotted Dean, came to ask if he was okay, but gave no indication that he knew Dean as anyone other than Father Dean Parelli, the name Sam himself had picked out for this charade.

He had to do something. Not the least of which was solving the problem of finding the bones of the other ghosts. He watched Sam coming toward him and decided that the first thing he needed to do was get Sam alone.

“Father Jarrod, I was wondering if I could speak to you on a private matter.”

Sam stopped and looked at him. “Is everything all right, Father Parelli?”

Dean took a deep breath. “I…was wondering if we could talk. I need someone to—“

Sam smiled. It was an eerie look, like it wasn’t really Sam at all. “Of course. We have almost an hour before Mass. Come, let us go someplace private.”

Dean sighed in relief. Yes. Private. Private was good. Together they walked the quiet halls that still smelled of smoke, into the small library. Sam led them toward a back corner where there were comfortable arm chairs. “Please.” Sam gestured for the chair and Dean nodded. “You seem troubled, Father.”

“Dean,” he said as he sat. “You used to call me Dean.”

Sam frowned. “Did I? I’m sorry. I—I got hit on the head. I seem to have holes in my memory.”

Okay. Head injury. Dean was familiar with that. “That explains a lot.” He tried to look sympathetic. “What do you remember?”

Sam shook his head. “Not much before coming here. I remember arriving here with you, and I remember visiting the cemetery.” He shook his head. “Father Raymond says it will come back eventually. In the meantime, he says I should do familiar things.”

Dean nodded. “I hit my head too, in the chaos. Fell down some stairs.”

Sam’s face transformed from the frown to concern instantly, his hand reaching out to touch Dean’s. All the warmth in his body rushed to that spot and Dean had to close his eyes to keep from grabbing his brother and giving him something familiar to jog his memory. “I’m fine. However, I **do** remember why we’re here.”

Sam pulled his hand back. “We were here for the retreat.”

“No, we used that as cover. We were sent to explore the rumors of…supernatural activity.”

Sam was frowning now and Dean sensed he was losing him. “Sam, listen. That fire was not natural. You and I are specialists, we…hunt evil.”

“In a monastery?”

“Not usually. This case was special. You know this place was once a bordello, right?”

Sam shook his head. “Maybe I did…but I don’t remember.” He looked around them and back to Dean. “So…what kind of activity?”

“We thought it was an angry spirit, but it turns out he was actually trying to protect the brothers here from older spirits. Now, we have to find them and get rid of them.”

“You do know you sound crazy.”

Dean smiled his best disarming smile. “Yes, I do.”

The library door opened and a young monk padded softly over to Sam. “Sorry to interrupt, Fathers.”

“Brother Jeremy, it’s quite all right.” Sam said with a smile. “What is it?”

“Father Raymond sent me to see if you would assist him at Mass. Father Nathors isn’t feeling well.”

Sam smiled that toothy, boy-wonder smile that always melted Dean’s knees. “Of course. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

“Dude, you can’t.” Dean blurted as the monk left them.

“What?”

“Mass. You can’t.”

Sam frowned and stood. “Of course I can.”

“Sam. Listen to me.” Dean grabbed his shoulders and turned him so that they were facing one another. “Listen to me. I’m your brother and I love you, but you got to snap out of this, or you’re going to get us into way more trouble than we’ve ever been in. You can not perform Mass.”

Sam grabbed his hands and gently pushed them back toward Dean. “I’ve already said I would. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare.”

Dean sank into the chair as Sam walked away. Putting on the costume was one thing, parading around like an actual priest was completely another. He sighed and tried to figure out a way to reach Sam.

Familiar things. Well…there’s nothing more familiar to Sam than Dean…but that didn’t seem to help. Then again talking wasn’t Dean’s strong suit. Maybe he needed a different approach.

Dean got up and went to find his brother, hoping that what he was about to do wouldn’t get them struck by lightening.

 

Sam shook his head as he looked at himself in the mirror. His head was a jumbled up mess. There were images and sensations that didn’t seem to sit well with the image in the mirror. Memories of Father Parelli and actions that were anything but priestly. Father Raymond patted his hand and smiled. “Is everything okay?”

Sam didn’t really know. “I’m not sure. I have…disturbing memories…all out of sequence and they don’t seem to make any sense.”

“Memory is a funny thing. We can only give it time and hope it comes clear in the end.”

Sam nodded and reached for the vestments. “I should only be a few minutes.”

Father Raymond nodded and smiled. “Trust your heart, Samuel.”

“Good advice.”

Sam turned to find Father Parelli in the doorway after the elder priest had left the room.. “I need to get ready.” His heart was pounding as he dressed, adjusting his garments even as the other man moved into the small dressing room.

Sam closed his eyes against a sudden memory of another small room, of Father Parelli on his knees…but definitely not praying. “I have to…”

Arms slid around his waist, pulling him back against a hard body…harder than any priest should have. “You have to trust me Sam. I know you…better than you do obviously.”

His hands were on Sam’s hips, his lips brushed the back of Sam’s neck. “Father, I must insist.” Sam pulled forward, his face flushed, his heartbeat erratic. His body was hot with desire he knew better than to indulge. He was a priest…vowed to celibacy.

“No, you really aren’t.” Dean’s voice said behind him.

“What?” Had he spoken out loud? Hands turned him, touched him in ways that seemed far too intimate, far too knowing, and his body responded in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.

Dean’s eyes caught on his, a vague smile on his face as he moved closer. “Trust me,” he whispered. Sam shook his head lightly, not sure whether he was denying his trust or what that trust seemed to imply. The first touch of Dean’s lips was brief, tender. The second was slightly more insistent, and the third stole Sam’s breath as Dean’s tongue slid between his lips and one hand cupped the back of Sam’s head.

When Dean pulled back, Sam stood breathless and staring. His stomach churned and his head swam with images. Abruptly, he turned away and left, away from Dean, from the temptation to give in to those lips. He had to help with the service. He had to put Father Parelli and his sin out of his mind.

 

Dean had to get Sam away from the altar. There was no way he could serve, though he probably spoke Latin better than anyone else in the sanctuary, he didn’t know the intricacies of what would be expected of him. Dean shook his head as he filed into the sanctuary with the brothers and other priests on retreat. They were in over their head. Sam was out of his. And to top it all off, they had a hunt to finish.

Dean was still contemplating all of that when the service started. His eyes darted around, finding Sam and staring.

His face almost glowed. He stepped through the motions of the ritual as though he’d been doing it forever. Dean watched in awe and wondered when and where Sam had learned that.

Dean waited for the inevitable misstep that never came. He was going to find it harder now to convince him. He was going to have to try harder.

He waited, avoiding Sam altogether and concentrating on figuring out where the other bones were…until after the rest of the place was asleep or deep in prayers. Then he made his way to the room Sam had been assigned when they arrived. He didn’t knock, just opened the door as quietly as he could. Sam knelt beside his small bed, head bowed in prayer.

Prayer.

Dean blinked, then took a deep breath. Sam looked up, distress evident on his face. “You should not be here, Father.”

“It’s Dean.” He closed the door and moved to sit on the bed, flinching as Sam moved away. “And if I shouldn’t be here, neither should you.”

“I don’t understand. I’ve been praying for—“

“Sam. Stop.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face, then reached up to remove the collar. “You aren’t a priest. Never were. Neither am I.”

“But, I—“

Dean nodded. “I know what it looked like. I know. I wasn’t here, and I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t believe you.”

Dean sighed. “Tell me you felt nothing when I kissed you.”

Sam’s eyes were wide with fear and confusion and Dean hated himself. “Tell me you have no memory of me kissing you before then.”

Sam got up to pace the tiny room. “I admit, I have memories that seem…at odds with being a priest.”

“I’ll say.” Dean shook his head and followed Sam, walking him into the corner of the room. “You said Father Raymond recommended familiar things, right?”

Sam nodded nervously. “Let me show you things you know very well, Sammy.” Dean didn’t give him a chance to move away, captured his head in both hands and kissed him, his tongue moving into his startled mouth easily, stroking over the roof of his mouth. He didn’t stop until he felt the resistance die a little. “Feel good? Right?”

Sam’s eyes were closed, his mouth hanging open as he shook. Dean moved his lips over his jaw, up to his ear. “Remember this, Sammy? Remember the last time I did this?”

Dean licked lightly at the spot just under and behind Sam’s ear at the same time he moved a knee between Sam’s legs, relieved to find him hard. Maybe this would work. Maybe.

“It was five days ago…at the motel…you came out of the shower, and I licked you dry.” He let his voice go husky and lust-filled as he spoke the words directly into Sam’s ear. “You came all over me.”

“Please.” Sam’s hands were on his shoulders, but he wasn’t pushing.

Dean sucked a little on Sam’s neck, his hands working to loosen his collar and get his shirt open. “You know I like it when you beg.” Dean whispered, moving now to the other side of Sam’s neck. He managed to get Sam’s shirt open and kissed, licked and nipped his way down to one nipple.

Sam bucked a little then, pushing Dean forward and trying to pull himself deeper into the corner. Dean responded by grinding his knee up against Sam’s erection, eliciting a long, deep moan. “Like that?”

Sam bit his lip and Dean moved in, his hand cupping Sam’s groin and fondling his cock as it got even harder in his hand. “Sammy….my Sammy…you taste so good.” Dean licked up his throat as Sam’s head fell back to expose it. His breath was heavy and Dean sucked on his Adam’s apple as he worked at his pants.

Sam whimpered a little as Dean got his hand into his pants and around his straining cock. “Easy baby…easy…that’s it.” Sam’s hips made tiny motions as Dean stroked him.

“Please…I don’t…know….Oh…God…Please…”

“Yeah, Sammy…that’s it…come for me…want to feel you come for me…just for me.”

Dean twisted his hand on the up stroke, pulling his thumb over the head of Sam’s cock over and over until Sam was shuddering and spilling himself over Dean’s hand. He kissed him then, as softly as he could manage…offering up a prayer of his own that it was enough to bring Sam back to him. Sam didn’t exactly kiss him back…but his lips parted easily enough and he leaned into Dean.

After a few silent moments, Dean stood back, looking over his fully debauched brother, looking much less like a priest than he had ten minutes before. “You okay?”

Sam shook his head and fumbled with putting himself back together. “I…we shouldn’t have…but…it…was familiar.” He looked away. “I…remember how you taste.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t know that.”

Dean nodded. “That wasn’t my best shot…but it’s going to have to do for right now. We have bones to dig up.”

Sam managed to get his pants done back up. “Excuse me?”

“Evil spirits, remember? I’ll even let you pray over them when we’ve salted and burned them.”

Sam was shaking his head…clearly still confused. “And this is supposed to be familiar too?”

Dean grinned. “Like riding a bike. Come on, I think I found them this afternoon.”

“Them?”

“Just be quiet and follow my lead.”

The last whores to be ousted from the bordello when the church seized the property had been dumped in a mass grave when they all died when the sheriff and his men had come to evict them. That made their job easier. It wasn’t marked, but the records were clear. The grave was just outside the monastery walls, where the ground wasn’t sacred.

Sam looked at him like he was insane, but took the shovel and started digging. They were half way down when he stopped and looked up at Dean. “I’ve done this before.”

Dean nodded. “Yes…more times than I could count.” Sam nodded, and Dean pondered saying more, but his shovel struck something that wasn’t dirt. “I think we’re there.”

They abandoned shovels for hands, clearing away the dirt to expose the intertwined skeletons of four women. Sam crossed himself and began muttering in Latin. Dean put a hand on his shoulder and pushed himself up. “After the salting and burning, bro. Otherwise we’ll have them howling up our tailpipes to keep us from doing it.

Dean reached up for the duffle bag and tossed Sam a canister of salt before reaching in for the lighter fluid. “Scatter it…use it all…we got to bind four of them here.”

Sam hesitated, then flipped the canister open and started shaking. Dean set about dousing the bones with lighter fluid then hopped out of the hole, reaching to help Sam up. Something blinked in Sam’s eyes and he grinned. “This I remember…but I was smaller.”

Dean chuckled. “Crawling out of a grave brings that back…and my hand job got you nothing?” Dean pulled out his lighter and lit a wad of paper before dumping it down onto the bones. “Now you can do that praying thing, if you want.”

Sam’s eyes caught on the flames and held, the Latin barely murmured audibly, but Dean caught when he crossed himself as the flames died out. “Now what?”

Dean turned to look at him. “That’s up to you.”

Sam frowned and crossed his arms. “Oh?”

Dean nodded. “Normally this is where we ride off into the sunset.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And…if I don’t want to go?”

Dean hid the slap that felt like and took a deep breath. “Then we stay…or you do. I can’t do the whole celibacy thing, Sam. You should know that.”

Sam blushed and grinned, though he turned away to hide it. “Apparently I have an issue with that as well.”

“You are a Winchester.” Dean replied. “Seriously. If this is what you want…I won’t say I like it, but I saw you up there…you looked like you belonged.”

“It didn’t feel like it.” Sam admitted, circling around the grave and starting to push dirt back in. “I wasn’t thinking pious thoughts.”

“Oh?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“I…was thinking about you.”

“Nice.”

They finished filling in the grave and headed back toward the monastery. “I would like until the morning, if you don’t mind, to make up my mind.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.” He let a hand slide down over Sam’s back, hesitating only slightly before rubbing over his ass. “I’d be happy to help jog your memory—“

Sam turned and shook his head. “Please, Fath—Dean.”

Dean stopped and held out his hands. “Not another word.”

“Goodnight.” Sam went ahead of him and Dean sighed.

He was sure Sam was starting to remember. Positive. Waiting wasn’t Dean’s best skill. So, he figured he should keep busy. He cleaned out his own little room, and hoofed it back to where he’d parked the Impala almost a week before. A shower in the local truck stop and a change of clothes later, he felt a little better. Morning Mass was over, and Dean headed back to the church.

He waited in front of it, leaning on the Impala and watching the parishioners leave. As the flow trickled down, he wandered inside, looking around for signs of Sam. He glanced aside at the confessional and remembered when Sam was little he used to go into them to hide when he’d had a fight with their father.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.” Dean said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

The door slid open and Sam looked at him. “Yeah, no shit. Corrupting a priest, impersonating a priest, not to mention that whole bit where you’re fucking your little brother.”

“Father Jerrod, such language.” Dean grinned though and stood up out of the booth. Sam followed. “You okay?”

Sam shrugged. “I’ve got a few holes still…but I woke up and it was all there. Weird as anything.”

“Yet you’re still dress in the…” Dean indicated the collar and Sam grinned.

He picked up a bag that was on the floor of the confessional. “Better to refill our supplies.”

“Nice.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Sam said, tilting his head toward the doors.

“In a hurry?”

Sam reached the Impala and nodded. “I seem to recall that my brother has a thing for collars…and I’ve been celibate for nearly a week.”


End file.
